Love is bigger

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I was thinking about Amanda's post last week on Widow's Voice comparing divorce to death and how perturbed it made me what some people have the nerve to say (you can read it HERE). I've been lucky that no one has been dumb enough to try to compare the two to my face....or I should say, they've been lucky enough.

Not even my husband, who has been through one of the most painful divorces I know of, tries to compare the two. Just as I don't ever try to play the widow card to trump the hurt and pain that he's gone through. We know they're different and both painful in their own right.

But in my own personal experience, I have recently really noticed the difference that those tragic experiences have played out for our children. I ache every time I realize that Jeremy is missing out on things in his childrens' lives and there is nothing that will ever fill that void. But there is one thing I'm always certain of: Jeremy was an incredible daddy and his children will never doubt the love he had for them. Now that our oldest girls have gotten to a place where they realize their biological mother is not in the picture because of her own choice, that is a much harder topic to trudge through. The questions of why dad was the one who did the things that moms were supposed to when they were little are hard to answer. Knowing that we look for opportunities to honor Jeremy and talk about him in our household is a stark contrast to the care and sensitivity we take to not expose the pain and hurt the runs deep (and unfortunately current) caused by a mentally and physically unhealthy person who wants other people to be as unhappy as she is. I never thought the ripples and scars left by that tragedy could be as complicated to heal as my own.

How could you choose a more painful experience between watching a child that has night terrors about their parents leaving them or a child who has a hard time trusting people because they don't feel safe with the person who is supposed to care for them the most? A child who asks why daddy had to die or a child that ask wonders if it was their fault that their mom never did their hair or bathed them and would leave for days at a time? Which is worse? The truth is, they both are and comparing the two only makes it more painful.

What is boils down to is that it's ultimately not about divorce vs. death, but it's about love. While I wouldn't wish a death of a spouse on anyone, I can say that I am thankful for the love that Jeremy gave me, and I would NEVER trade it, even if I had known I would lose him so soon. And while I certainly would never wish a divorce on anyone, I know that divorced parents are not DEAD parents. But to feel a parent choose to leave is a painful trail in and of itself. I get frustrated in either situation by people who abuse these experiences to hurt others, or put children in the middle of it. In my book, that's unacceptable. To feel unconditional love is to be given wings in a very heaven laden world. Love matters, and when you get to experience it, no matter how short of time you have it for, it changes you and the way you see the world. It makes the harder parts easier to walk through. It make life worth living.

At the end of the day, we love our way through grief and divorce when our children struggle, because love is bigger than both, and the only thing that gives us the strength to keep going. We might not always have the right answers, but we are sure they cannot be out loved.

In the end, love wins.

A Mom by any other name...

When Steve and I answered questions about our story, our family, and our relationship last month, we got a lot of questions about what the kids call us. We were both in agreement that we both eventually wanted to be Mom & Dad, but we would let the kids call us that on their own terms and in their own timing.

I remember when Steve and I were dating, our oldest asking him what she would call me if we got married. He, of course, told her that she could call me whatever she felt comfortable calling me. Then she asked if she could call me Mom. When Steve called me up to tell me that, it brought us both to tears.

Then when Steve proposed to me and orchestrated his amazing plan of having everyone important in my life be present, the girls really wanted to be a part of it and were unable. But, they asked if they could write me letters for the day since they couldn't be there. I collected letters from everyone that day, including theirs, but in the chaos of the day didn't get a chance to read them all until later that evening. We opened a letter written by our second oldest that very simply was addressed to "Mommy" - a beautiful, simple, 8-year-old expression of unconditional love. Steve and I sobbed together for a good 10 minutes over the implications of our sweet little girl and how she innocently and unknowingly filled our hearts and brought our family together in such a unique way.

Well, I really thought it would take the girls awhile to adjust to actually calling me Mom. And I was ok with that. But it didn't take long at all, maybe a few weeks, before they started sneaking it in here and there. Every time it made my heart leap.

We had only been home as a family for a few weeks to finally get adjusted to a schedule that they ended up spending some of their summer time visitation with their biological mom. I thought for sure that the time away might make them take a step back in their comfort level with calling me Mom. I was ok with that too.

But something shocking happened. No sooner had they hopped in the car after intense hugs and kisses from being gone for 2 weeks that they were calling me Mom. Only this time, it wasn't sporadic - not like before when they were testing it out to see how comfortable they felt with it or how I would respond to it (I always tried to be cool about and not make a big scene about it, even though my heart always did a little touchdown dance) - this time it stuck. And it was beautiful music to my ears.

Steve and I exchanged knowing glances. And giant smiles.

There's something about hearing your child say "mama" for the very first time that could just make your heart burst. I used to always tell Faith and Caleb not to call me Mom, that it was strictly "Mama" or "Mommy" while they were little - they weren't old enough to call me Mom yet! I wanted to hold on to those days knowing I wouldn't get to carry that title for long.

I had no idea how meaningful or sweet it would be to hear the word "Mom" apply to me. Maybe not from the children I carried in my womb, but these beautiful girls that I carry in my heart, that God has entrusted me to love and care for. These two children who were so desperately searching for that connection and bond that they were missing, and feel their walls come down, feel their trust in me, and know that something very special was happening. Hearing them call me Mom means so much more. There's so much healing and hope in that word. It's the beauty that only a blended family could produce.

Come to think of it, I absolutely adore the title.

love makes a family

Love makes a family.

That was the phrase I saw on a t-shirt in Arkansas in a booth raising money for a family trying to adopt. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. I bought one for me, and one for Steve. Had there been children sizes, I probably would have gotten one for each of our 5 children. Cheesy, I know.

Since then, it has become a theme incorporated in my life, in our wedding, and in our family. In my life, blended families are outside of my knowledge or level of expertise and something I've prayed a lot about. But every time I think about this phrase, or read my t-shirt, it really breaks things down to the basics for me. Every once in awhile, I change it in my head to also say 'God makes a family.'

The truth of the matter is, I loved Steve's daughters before I loved him. I loved them way back when we were just acquaintances and our kids were just friends who hung out once in awhile. But my heart melted for them, and ached for them in their hurt. God allowed them to tug at my heart in many ways before I really understood why.

This weekend was a stressful one, and yet God once again showed me a future outside of what could have ever been my understanding before. These sweet, wonderful girls filled up my heart in so many ways. Zada had picked out a craft with some money she'd earned, which was a box of 4 stepping stones. She graciously shared them with her soon-to-be siblings and her sister and they each made a personalized stepping stone. It was her suggestion to make them for Jeremy and maybe we could take them to his memorial at the college - they all loved the idea. Heart squeeze number one. While we were making them, she thoughtfully asked "if Jeremy is a part of our family, what would he be to me?" Let me stop right there - the fact that these girls have already incorporated Jeremy into our family means more than I could possibly tell you. They understand what an important role he plays for me and my kids and I love that they ask me questions about him (Zada asked me last week if I remembered what the last thing Jeremy said to me was....and I loved being able to tell her yes, and sharing the story with her). I remembered that when we went to Jeremy's grave in Canada, she wrote him a little note on the balloons we took that said 'you were a great friend' so I told that since he was a friend to her when he died, he could stay that to her always. Heart squeeze number 2.

We took the stones to Jer's memorial. After that, they asked to walk around campus to see where Jeremy worked. We held hands and talked, laughed and raced, and watched Carter tumble his way around. Steve noted this precious time while we were all holding hands and said "I love this family." Heart squeeze number 3.
I grabbed Reagan's hand a little tighter and holding back tears, said "Yeah, we're pretty much rock stars."
Reagan smiled. "Yeah, pretty much."

It was the first time I remember taking a deep breath and feeling so proud of the family I had since Jeremy died. I always felt a sense that something was missing and that I would never be able to give my children a whole family again. But there we were, all together and complete, carrying Jeremy in our hearts as we walked around and shared stories of what he did and where he worked. It was so very precious to me.

When we walked down to Jer's shop, my ache was strong and my grief surprised me as I seemed to suddenly realized for the first time that this was place I last saw Jeremy alive. The last time I touched him, heard his voice, kissed him. The lump in my throat was huge as I showed Steve's girls where we used to sit at the picnic tables and bring Jeremy lunches in the afternoons and heard Faith and Caleb remember in such detail little pieces about their daddy and that campus. It was like two different lifetimes overlapping each other, two different loves coming together.

We continued walking together. We took the kids to McDonalds to eat and play. When we got back, we sat on the couch and played charades, laughed and tickled each other. Moments I will never take for granted. And every time I held one of those girls' hands, or played with their hair, or felt them crave my affection and attention, I thanked Jeremy for teaching me to love fiercely and to never again take my life for granted.

I'm so proud of our blended family. I know it won't always be easy. I know that there will be many challenges ahead, and I know it's not the family I ever had planned, but there's so much beauty there. So much healing and hope to be found and shared. I feel such purpose in this family God has made.

This family that love has made.